


The Last Goodbye

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And they lived like full and happy lives, Character Death, Complete, Gen, I mean it's like decades in the future, It's still sad though, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: "All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage."The one thing Mycroft Holmes never managed was listening to his own advice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Dimar for checking for the worst mistakes <3
> 
> I was kind of in a melancholy mood when I started this. Please remember this takes place more than twenty years in the future. There are lots of happy years happening in between. Lots and LOTS of happy years.

It was a warm and sunny afternoon in August yet the sun rays weren’t quite enough to warm him. Mycroft wondered if he would ever truly feel warm again. Age had caught up with him and more often than not he felt a deep weariness and cold deep within his bones. But today the lack of warmth had nothing to do with his age and the resulting bad circulation.

 

Today it had everything to do with the fact that he was putting the remains of his husband into the ground.

____

  
  


It was a cold, windy, and clear day in January when they finally laid Violet Holmes to rest. A classic burial might be considered a tad old-fashioned but it was what she would have wanted, to spend her last rest in a shared grave with her husband. Siger had gone less than two years before her. And despite the fact that it always seemed as if she was so dominant, so full of vigour that you hardly noticed the smiling man at her side, once he was gone, she changed. A part of her was missing and although she tried, she never found anything to fill that hole in her life. She had been over ninety and as bright and as intelligent as she’d always been up to the last day, a fact for which her sons were eternally grateful. The thought of losing one’s mind, one’s self, held far more terror than the simple inevitability of death. 

 

She had had a good life. A good death. And she hadn’t suffered all that much in the grand scheme of things. Mycroft had loved her dearly but in his early seventies himself the death of his mother hardly came as a surprise.

 

The funeral was rather big considering the circumstances. Violet had touched people during her life and never really stopped. So although she had no grandchildren or great-grandchildren to mourn her, her sons had the company of almost two dozen neighbours, former students, and friends all paying their last respects.

 

Mycroft had taken care of all the necessary arrangements, had paid for everything, talked to the priest, decided on the advertisement in the local paper, picked the music, and the flowers.

 

Sherlock was actually there for the funeral.

 

For Mummy each of them did their best.

 

Mycroft smiled politely, taking the good wishes and words of condolence with grace, always aware of Gregory right by his side. They had opted out of a wake so once everyone would have left the graveyard they would be free to go their own ways.

 

“Sherlock fled about five minutes ago.” Gregory whispered into his ear.

 

A small smile played around Mycroft’s lips. His husband knew very well that he had noticed his brother’s departure, it was just Gregory’s way of reminding him that he had done more than his duty and they could leave anytime they liked without anyone thinking any less of them.

 

There weren’t many people left though and Mycroft stayed long enough to see everyone off.

 

Once they were alone Mycroft and Gregory stayed just for a moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in.

 

“It was a beautiful service.” The retired policeman squeezed his husband’s hand.

 

“It was,” Mycroft agreed. “She would have appreciated it. Not too much sentiment and a lot of common sense, it suited her.”

 

“Yes, it did.” Over the years Greg had more than once clashed with Violet Holmes. But he had respected and liked the woman who had brought two of the most amazing men into this world that he had ever met. “I’m going to miss her.”

 

A small smile escaped Mycroft. The closest he’d come to showing an emotional reaction since learning that his mother had passed. The director of the funeral home they talked with probably had thought him a heartless bastard. Greg knew better. He took the sigh, no matter how small, as the sign of great emotional turmoil that it was and put his arm around his husband. Mycroft leaned into the embrace not saying anything just taking the offered comfort.

 

After a few moments they both turned, ready to leave. Only in the back of the car as their driver drove them home, Greg started to talk again.

 

“You picked a lovely spot, it has to be the most serene corner of the graveyard.”

 

“That’s what I thought.” He paused. “That’s why I bought the plot next to it as well. While I hope it will be many years until we need it, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

 

“That’s kind of maudlin, My. Don’t you think?”

 

“It’s practical. To be honest we’ve put this off for too long already. We are both in our seventies, Gregory. If ignorance could change reality, I would never mention the possibility of one of us passing away, leaving the other behind. But sadly that’s not the case, husband-mine.”

 

Now that was a thought Greg really didn’t feel ready for. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, something they hadn’t done since the end of the priest’s eulogy.

 

Seeing his husband’s tears, Mycroft was quick to apologise. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine. Let’s just save this for another day, My.”

 

“Of course.”

*

  
  


“I only want to make sure that if I die first I won’t leave you wondering what I would have wanted, Gregory. The whole experience will be hard enough and if I can do anything now to make that period easier on you, I want to do it.”

 

Gregory sighed and put his book down. It had been a week since the funeral. Life had gone on and Mycroft had given him more than enough time before bringing it up again.

 

“I might be the one to go first, you know?”

 

“And that thought fills me with dread. Still making arrangements now, for both cases, will save us at least some heartache later on.”

 

“Contrary to your absolute conviction, My, being prepared and in control doesn’t always help. But I guess you got a point, so… given the fact that you bought a regular plot I guess you don’t want a cremation.”

 

Mycroft lowered his gaze. “I confess to find the thought… distasteful. I want my body to be given back to earth. That is if any of my organs will still have any use left in them when I’m finished, I of course agree to be a donor. But simply burning the remains serves no real purpose. It seems more like a mood of the moment type of thing to me. It might be silly, it’s only physical remains after all, but if I got the choice, then I would pick the regular funeral.”

 

Greg smiled. Sentimental decisions were few and far between with his husband and he couldn’t help but love each and every one of them as a sign of Mycroft being oh so human.

 

“I like the thought of having my body lying next to yours until they are both completely gone and forgotten actually. But that’s only a small part of the decisions that need to be made.”

 

“The paperwork is in complete order and I trust you not to start squabbling with Sherlock over the few tokens I would like him to have.”

 

“You’ve made a will?”

 

“Not officially, I thought I’d wait to go to a solicitor until you are ready. It’s easier to do both at the same time. And if something happens, well, even without an official seal, I trust you to follow my wishes.”

 

Greg sighed. Mycroft knew exactly how to manipulate him into doing as he thought best. With this lack of prodding and the amount of trust on display, how could he do anything but act responsible as well. “I’ll go and make a list about the important stuff next week, promise.” He looked at his husband. “What about a wake?”

 

“God no. I’ve never been a fan of the public display of emotions and I hate being the centre of attention. I don’t want anyone at the funeral either besides you and Sherlock, well and any member of your family who might give you comfort of course.”

 

That came as a bit of a surprise to Greg. While he knew that Mycroft was an extremely private person, the level of resentment was more than he had expected.

 

“What about Anthea?”

 

“I want no one from work there. I’ve spent my whole adult life serving crown and country. I’m still doing it - and gladly. But once I’ve joined the dear departed I think it will have been enough. My death shall be my own, only accompanied by the few people still alive who actually knew and cared about me as a person on the contrary to my function. While Anthea would fall into that category, she won’t be able to afford such frivolities. Once I’m gone, she’ll have to pick up so many loose ends, the only way she would be able to make it would be if there was a lot of additional advantages to going, such as making contacts with the right people, talking to enemies that could be turned into potential allies, the usual works. Since I don’t want my funeral to turn into yet another stage for such little displays of drama, she will have to pay her respect by obeying my wishes and staying away.”

 

“Don’t you think that will hurt her?” Greg liked the woman. Mycroft’s former PA who had now taken over almost all of his official functions - despite the fact that her old boss never could quite stop meddling - had been his only constant companion in caring for Mycroft through the years. Unlike Sherlock or John, Anthea’s loyalty had never wavered, never stood back behind more pressing matters, never had taken a backseat due to childish animosities and arguments. In some ways she’d been more steadfast in her belief in Mycroft Holmes than even Greg himself.

 

“I’ve written a note. It’s with my personal papers, right in the black envelope that shall only be opened in the event of my death. She’ll understand.”

 

Greg nodded. He had noticed how Mycroft avoided to answer his original question but this was something between his spouse and his ever faithful assistant. 

 

“I’ve also come up with a list of appropriate choices for a quote or verse in the official announcement in the papers as well as some requirements for the coffin. It’s with the contact data of a discrete and competent funeral home in the black envelope.”

 

“And all the paperwork regarding taxes, pension, and the like are prepared as well I guess?” Greg felt his throat tightening.

 

“Naturally.”

 

“God, My, remind me never to take a look at that black envelope.” 

 

“Gregory?”

 

Instead of an answer, Greg just embraced his husband, holding him tight, breathing in his scent. 

 

Mycroft just waited. In situations like these experience had taught him, that his physical presence worked better than any words. He gently stroke Gregory’s head idly musing about the unfairness of genetics that gave Gregory a full head of silvery white hair in his seventies while his own head only showed the meager remnants of growth appropriate for his age. It didn’t take long for Gregory to collect himself.

 

“I’ve never given much thought to what will happen once I’m gone. But I think I want a funeral like Violet’s. With you there and Sherlock and the rest of my family but also with old colleagues and mates. I want everyone to have the opportunity to say goodbye. I know that will be harder for you and I’m sorry but I have friends and they are important to me too.”

 

“Of course.” Just because he himself never saw the need of ‘friends’ didn’t mean that he wasn’t fully aware of the importance they held for most people, including his husband.

 

“I don’t care too much about the coffin, just pick something you find appropriate if it comes to that. And I guess I’ll have to think about a quote of verse… My, promise me something though?”

 

“And what would that be, husband-mine?”

 

“If I die first, if you have to go through my funeral, don’t go home alone. Spend the rest of the day with Anthea or Sherlock, hell go with Sue and her kids before you go alone.”

 

Mycroft was convinced that he would be the one to go first, that Greg would be the one who would have to deal with the loss. Still he wouldn’t give promises lightly. “Do you really think that anyone’s company would make that day more bearable to me?”

 

“When will you ever learn to trust me, My?” Greg had lived through loss more often than Mycroft. He cared more easily about people. And while he wasn’t a genius, he had a certain wisdom when it came to dealing with matters of the heart.

 

“I do trust you, with all my heart.”

 

“Then promise.”

_________

 

Mycroft stared at the freshly dug grave. The sermon had been more than adequate. If he had been prone to sentimentality, he would have taken comfort in the words of the priest.

 

The amount of people who had turned out for the funeral would have made Gregory happy. His husband had always been a people person and if paying tribute to the man he’d loved, meant that he would have to suffer through dozens and dozens of meaningless words of condolences then he would gladly do so.

 

Sue was standing at Mycroft’s side providing a steady rock despite her own grief. Mycroft envied Sherlock who just stood back and was largely ignored and he was grateful for Anthea who kept her discrete watchful eye on his brother.

 

When the line of former colleagues and friends reached Sally Donovan, Mycroft managed a small forced smile. He personally despised the woman for numerous reasons but she had been Gregory’s friend.

 

“Miss Donovan, thanks again for your offer to host the small feast after the funeral, Gregory would greatly appreciate it.”

 

“Are you sure neither you nor your brother want to come?”

 

There was genuine empathy in her voice directed at him maybe for the first time since he knew the woman. “I’m sure you and his friends will reminiscent more freely and easily without the presence of two ‘freaks’, but I assure you I appreciate the offer.”

 

Her face froze. This was the funeral of Holmes’ husband though and she wouldn’t make a scene when he for once forgot his manners. Lestrade wouldn’t have wanted her to do so. “If you change your mind, you know where we’ll be.”

 

He nodded. “Of course.” The bill was addressed to him after all.

  
  


Gregory’s widowed sister Sue was among the last to leave.

 

“Mycroft.” She gently squeezed his arm. “I know we’ve never been that close. But if you feel like you need someone to talk, you know you can call any time.”

 

He looked at her in amazement. In moments like this, when despite all the social conventions of appropriate behaviour, she simply showed genuine concern for another human being, she reminded him painfully of her brother. “Thank you.”

  
  


And then it was just Anthea, Sherlock, and himself.

 

“I’ve called your driver, Sir.”

 

“You haven’t been my PA in a long time, there really is no need for this kind of formality, don’t you think?”

 

“Old habits die hard, Sir.”

 

“Thank you for taking the time to come today.”

 

“I’ve taken up a few good habits from my old boss, like employing a capable PA to take care of everything should some pressing matter occur.”

 

“It sounds like your old boss had some good ideas.”

 

“Some,” she agreed. Then she turned towards Sherlock. “I’ll have to go. Now I trust you to behave yourself - as much as you’re capable that is. If you don’t and make my life any harder than it already is, I will find ways to make you pay.” Her tone was perfectly matter-of-factly. She nodded once at the two brothers and left for her own car and driver.

  
  


“Now let’s leave this place of maudlin self-pity and wallowing in misery.”

 

“Was this the first time you visited our parents’ grave since the funeral?”

 

“I wouldn’t call it a visit. I was here today for someone else. They just happen to lie in the neighbourhood.”

 

Mycroft turned around and left for the waiting car, Sherlock close on his heels. Once inside the car Mycroft offered: “Shall I drop you off somewhere specific?”

 

“Your home will be fine.”

 

“Really, Sherlock? I thought you’d be happy to escape the whole affair.”

 

“I would be. But even I acknowledge certain responsibilities and debts.” There was a pause. “You’ve given him your word.”

 

“He told you?”

 

“I remember something along the lines of ‘Sherlock, he promised me, but I know him. He will try some trick, claiming that you weren’t bound by his word or something similar’.”

 

Mycroft sighed. “He knew me all too well.”

 

“A terrible burden indeed. He asked me to hold you accountable. He knew I wouldn’t just do it to fulfil some sentimentality.”

 

“He knew you too.”

 

There was a long pause. “Indeed.”

 

They stayed silent for most of the ride, both lost in thought.

 

Mycroft just wished that Sherlock would leave but also knew that he had little chance under the circumstances. As long as his brother was there, he wouldn’t be able to simply crawl into his bed and hide from the reality of the world. Even if Sherlock left, he probably wouldn’t do that anyway. He knew that if he did, there was a chance he would simply never get up again, never finding the strength to go on.

 

If he ever had held any conviction of the existence of a loving and caring god, he would certainly have lost it now. Any deity who cared would have known that Gregory was the one supposed to survive him. Gregory was the one who had the strength to carry on without him. Gregory was the one who knew how to deal with his emotions.

 

“All lives end…” Sherlock reminded him.

 

“Sometimes it’s not about advantages though.” Mycroft stared out of the window as the car pulled up to the curb.

 

“Sometimes it isn’t,” his brother agreed.

  
  


Entering his home, the house that had been  _ their  _ home for so many years, the reality of the situation hit him once again. It wasn’t that Mycroft was in denial about Gregory’s death. He was very well aware of the mortality of men and that neither himself nor any of his loved ones were exempt from this universal truth. His head had everything under control. He perfectly understood what had happened. He knew exactly what the consequences were. He took all the necessary steps that were required to ensure that life continued as smoothly as possible. 

 

Yet his heart was another matter entirely.

 

“So how about a tea, brother-mine?” Sherlock unceremoniously dropped himself onto the couch. “It’s the least I can expect of a host, isn’t it?”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes but nevertheless went into the kitchen to put on the kettle.

 

Entering his living-room he found the usual chaos that always seemed to erupt around his brother. Before he even thought about it, Mycroft was already cleaning up around Sherlock. He realised of course what his younger brother was doing, drawing him back into old familiar patterns to distract him from the enormity of the change in his life. But it worked at least somewhat.

 

“Are you going to remind me to eat properly next?”

 

“Hardly. You hate takeout and we both are lousy cooks. I won’t even challenge you to a round of deductions.”

 

“Aren’t you in the mood for losing?”

 

“Everything around here is too personal. Any deductions would just succeed in depressing us further.”

 

A short and bitter laugh escaped Mycroft. “Your qualities as a grievance counsellor leave a lot to be desired, brother-dearest.”

 

“You would rip anyone apart who would attempt to play therapist. I’m exactly the company you deserve.”

 

“That has to be the truest thing you’ve ever said about our relationship.”

 

For a while they just drank their tea in silence. After a while Mycroft took out his laptop and started to work.

 

“That thing is terribly antiquated.” Sherlock was playing on his phone.

 

“Be that as it may, the security is superb. And I care more about that than slightly faster Google access.”

 

Sherlock didn’t do much per se, he just was there. He didn’t even comment on Mycroft working on the day of his husband’s funeral. From time to time he made a comment that was sure to annoy his brother and got a reply in kind. Anyone looking from the outside wouldn’t have guessed anything was wrong. Their banter was the same it had been last week, last year, or last decade. Around half past eight the doorbell rang and Sherlock opened to let the Chinese take-out in he had ordered. He spilled several containers on Mycroft’s couch table picking from half a dozen different meals.

 

“Are you going to eat all of that?”

 

“Hardly but I wasn’t sure what I wanted, so I ordered everything that looked interesting. I billed it to your card.”

 

“Lovely, remind me to change my security details - again.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Mycroft smelled the food and a part of him felt like throwing up. But then he remembered Gregory. Gregory who would want him to look after himself. Gregory who would want him to eat something. He sighed and took a pair of chopsticks from the plastic bag.

 

“That’s mine.”

 

“As you pointed out, I paid for it brother-mine, so all the food is technically mine.”

 

“Boring details.”

 

Mycroft decided to ignore his brother and concentrate on keeping a few bites of food down instead. After finishing as much of the Chow Mein as he could stomach he sighed.

 

“So that’s how it ends, just you and me, Sherl?”

 

Sherlock shrugged. “It could be worse. You will still have someone whose life you can meddle with, I will still have someone to annoy. And none of us is left alone with the goldfish.”

 

“Not all goldfish are necessarily bad company though.”

 

“I will miss Greg too.”

 

Hearing Sherlock use Gregory’s first name - for the first time he could remember - was the straw that finally broke him. It was a good thing his brother knew him well enough to simply ignore the tears and the sobs shaking him to his core; it would make looking him in the face tomorrow - and the day after - a lot easier.

 


End file.
